


Even Stars Die

by StarsNeverLanding



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Illness, Established Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Fluff, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou-centric, KuroKen - Freeform, Kuroo is an artist, M/M, Mild Smut, POV Third Person, Stars, cystic fibrosis, im sorry lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:42:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28619733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsNeverLanding/pseuds/StarsNeverLanding
Summary: "If you knew how much time you had left, what would you do?"How strange it felt to be haunted by someone who has a heartbeat--who had a heartbeat. Like phantom pain when someone loses a limb. Kenma still dreamt of Kuroo all the time. He was still haunted by him, too.//soulmate au in which soulmates share and have their own sky.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	1. you taught me the courage of stars before you left

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first kuroken and haikyuu work<3 this was loosely inspired by "the galaxy is endless (i thought we were, too)" by cosmogony :) it sparked an idea once i came upon the synopsis and i couldn't help but write.

" _If you knew how much time you had left, what would you do_?"

Really, it was such a strange question at the time. No one knows how much time they have left. Humans could be so lucky. What would you do? Does anyone know what they would do if they knew when their clock would stop ticking? At first, there wasn't much to say other than Probably nothing. It was the truth after all. But now? After all that time, after everything that's happened, the answer would be different. 

" _I'd follow in your footsteps. I'd live life. to the fullest, like there is no tomorrow_." Or it would be less cheesy. " _I'd live life loving you._ " 

Or maybe nothing would've been said at all. Perhaps it would've been better if the conversation just didn't happen, if it was cut off right there. Sometimes it was better to feel empty than it was to know what it was like to fall asleep with someone, to be able to see the secret world inside their head, to know what it's like to be loved by someone just for that love to slowly trickle away…

But the conversation kept going. And when he fell in love, it wasn't slow. It was all at once. Fast and racing and it caught him off guard, and God knows he tried to catch himself on the way down. He fell headfirst into those slim arms, those cold arms, and having to let go? Having to be brave enough to let go? Trusting that they'd meet again in another life? 

It left him with a numbness. Pain. It would've been better off to feel the pain. To feel something. Anything.

You never feel the depth of your love, the strength and the warmth, until they're gone. Until you have no one to love. 

Until you have no one to love you.

Dreams came. They never stopped, only changed. They started sweet, beautiful reminders of what was, of what he had, of what had been. Nightmares were painful reminders of what could've been, of the regrets he felt. Of how much better their time spent together could have been if only he'd fallen a little faster. 

If only.

_If you knew how much time you had left, what would you do?_

If only if only if only if only 

Those words warped from strange to haunting. They were always there. In the corner of the room. On the walls. Behind his eyelids. Tucked away in his dreams, wrapped up in the mundane world. Whispering, echoing in the back of his head, because those words meant something long before he knew. Before he really knew and understood.

In hindsight, it was obvious. The paleness of skin that looked like it should’ve been warmer in tone. The discolouration of his lips, blue and purple and grey. Coughing… he coughed so much, rough and loud and raspy and wet. Weakness in his steps. 

A tube in his nose, not always for oxygen, and sometimes for feeding. By the time those things came to fruition, it was probably already too late. 

Not realizing such a thing… it was because he smiled. He lived with energy and a dazzle on his lips… Such things could make you forget, almost entirely, what's hiding behind it all.

If only he'd caught on sooner. If only he'd paid more attention or…

If only he could turn back the clock. If only redos existed. 

If only stars didn't die. 

★彡

  
Everything dies in the winter. Trees give up trying to be green. Animals migrate to faraway places. Flowers fall apart. Their petals crumble, decompose into the snow to eventually be covered up. Forgotten. Snow laid everything to rest, being the dirt to cover up their graves. The city wasn’t in such a rush. And when he stepped outside, everyone else felt cold, that he wasn’t the only one flooded with it. 

Though that wasn’t entirely true, was it? The roots were protected by the dirt so they could sprout up again, so the leaves could grow and the trees could return to being green without trying. Lakes unfreeze. Animals return. Flowers return. Spring, it returned the world to life.

Nothing and everything dies. 

Downstairs, inside the apartment building, people were partying. Well, partying was a loose term anyway, considering they were all too young to legally drink unless they wanted to bribe Tanaka’s sister into buying them booze (though it was easier to get her to buy them weed, oddly enough). Partying meant trying to get beyond eighth-place in Mario Kart, or to try and avoid being lapped once by the others with unhealthy snacks and way too much soda nearby. 

Kenma shared an apartment with his best friend named Hinata and a few of Hinata’s friends. A really tall lanky dude, some energetic short guy, and a taller, though not as tall as the lanky one, guy without any hair. Kenma and Hinata shared a room decorated in video game and volleyball posters. Nishinoya and Tanaka shared a room, and Tsukishima got lucky in terms of having his own room, though he did have the smallest. They all shared a kitchen, one bathroom, and small living space. He wouldn’t really call anyone other than Hinata a friend given that he’s never really spent any quality time with the others, but he trusted Hinata’s judgment in those people. Just in those people. Tanaka and Nishinoya were decent, rather loud and overbearing, and Tsukishima gave off bully energy. Snide remarks and complaints were all he knew. 

When things got loud and unbearable, Kenma escaped through one of the only fire escapes that had a route up to the roof. Everything could be seen up there. The stars appeared so much closer, like if he were a little bit closer maybe he could reach out and touch them. Maybe he could scoop them from the sky and store them in a jar like fireflies. And from up there, he could see the notes his soulmate left him in the sky so much easier. They were clear and closer, like they were written with the biggest and brightest stars man could find. 

He found the roof by accident, stumbled upon the unlocked door at the end of the hallway and discovered the escape route that was way too dangerous to use. The first time, when the stairs creaked and shook, he was a little worried that the old metal wire landings would collapse when he stood on them. Now, he was glad he put aside the possibility of dying, not that he cared about that anyway because he had an escape from those heathens. The ones Tsukishima liked to lump him with sometimes. An insult.

He sat on the roof, sometimes reclined back and propped his legs up on the edge, and played his Switch or 3DS depending on whatever was charged at the time. Sometimes, he’d write notes back. Compared to his soulmate's handwriting, his was rather decent. Blocky in some aspects, but it was legible nonetheless. 

His soulmate, someone he had yet to meet, had made themselves known since Kenma’s childhood. One night, after getting in trouble for staying up way too late playing video games, he saw something from the corner of his eyes. An anomaly at first, the way the constellations had contorted into words until he realized what it meant; those stars in the sky had been arranged into words just for him. It was a simple hi at first, and it took him far too long to reply. Everywhere he went, those words followed him. For days. When night shifted to day, the words became stream’s of smoke, like what you see in the sky when an aeroplane flies overhead. 

A simple hi is what he gave in response. And then he made his first friend, a stranger who could have been living on the other side of the world for all he knew. Whoever it was, they listened to Kenma, from so far they listened and responded and helped him in ways he didn’t imagine to be possible. They got him into volleyball and encouraged him from afar. Leaving cute messages to cheer him up or tell him he’d do great on game days, or to cheer him on when he had to practice. He hated running, he hated being tired and sweating. The notes made it all suck a little less. Kenma appreciated it. 

Unlike the rest of the world, he wasn’t sure if he was really in love with his soulmate. Sure, seeing those notes most mornings made the butterflies in his stomach dance, made him smile such large smiles he kept to himself. But love? Kenma had never felt love like that before, the kind of love that wasn’t for a family member, the kind that’s vulnerable and confusing and sometimes heartbreaking. He felt vulnerable when talking to his soulmate, felt the connection they shared and knew just how important this person was. How they impacted his life and made it better. 

But was it love? Maybe if they’d met in person he’d know. 

He doubted they would, though. And the more he gave the idea thought, he wasn’t sure how’d that go or how’d survive. He told his soulmate, this stranger, many private things in confidence banking on the fact that they may never actually meet in person, not many soulmates do. Having to face the person he vented to almost sounded like a nightmare. Or a terrible horror game with way too many jumpscares.

No matter what though, whoever it was… they'd been his first real friend. The first person he ever felt comfortable talking to.

The sky was empty that night. Void of any notes or drawings from his soulmate. He thought about writing one of his own, being the first one to strike up a conversation, but held back. 

It was nice. Being alone up there, away from everyone. Kenma was never really a people person. Not in the sense that he went out of his way to befriend anyway unless approached first, a rarity because to most, he came off as cold and unapproachable, but not to Hinata. He had a fear of the thoughts others may have of him, and would much rather stay tucked away than anything else. 

Feelings always came out wrong. Words always sounded worse out loud.

“Now, now,” a voice said, deep from behind him, “That’s what I call a view. Sure, it's not as great as others, but damn.” 

Someone? Kenma whipped his head around, trying to see in the dark, and found a rather large figure. In the dark, he couldn’t see much more than a faint silhouette; tall, somewhat broad shoulders, and wild strands of hair. The voice sounded amazed and astonished by what he presumed to be the view from the top of their building, and yet at the same time, the voice sounded unimpressed. Couldn’t he just pick a side?

What boggled his mind was the fact that he didn’t hear the shake of the creek of the fire escape, or the sound of the door closing for that matter. And with someone that large, he expected to be able to hear more.

“How did you get up here?” Kenma asked, confused. He wasn’t sure how to feel about someone, a stranger no less, finding his spot. His comfort spot. It wasn’t much of a secret comfort spot if someone else knew about it. 

The figure, a boy, tilted his head. “Ah? Well, the door was unlocked.” He shrugged and closed the distant, not by much, and sat down. Leaned back, and crossed his legs at the ankles. 

Being closer, Kenma could make out more of his features. Black hair, or at least dark in colour, a weird set of bangs that could easily be mistaken for a fringe, and the back stood up like a rooster's feathers. Rooster Head. A side profile shadowed by the clouds. 

“This is my spot.”

The guy laughed, shook his head. “Ah? So you’ve claimed it? No way, man, you can’t claim a view like this all to yourself.” 

“I found it first.” 

The boy snickered, covered his mouth with his hand. “Did you piss up here or something? Is that why you’re so territorial?” 

Kenma felt his face fall hot against the brisk spring air. Who did this guy think he was? Who was he? He felt the space, quiet and tucked away, was rightfully his. He was the one who discovered the jankiness of the door handle, after all. 

But no way was he about to leave. Not yet. 

And as the clouds cleared a little more, revealing the moon above, he saw a little more of his face. Thin eyes shaped like almonds he couldn’t make out the colour of, such pale skin, and hair that looked like he just rolled out of bed. Tainted in the darkest ink or thickest charcoal. Spiking in appearance but probably fully in texture, just like a rooster's feathers. And he was broad like Kenma had observed, and tall too, much taller than Kenma. The guy, even when sitting down and with the distance between the two, gave off the feeling of being somewhere around six feet tall. Much taller than Kenma at his messily five-six. 

“How did you find the fire escape?” Kenma asked, trying to focus his attention back on the Switch he had abandoned in his lap. 

“I was exploring.”

“Exploring.” Soft in tone.

“That's right, kid, exploring.” He leaned back, becoming a little more in line with Kenma. “I got bored, and honestly I wasn’t expecting the door to be unlocked. A pleasant surprise.” A brief pause. “And then there’s you.”

Right when Kenma was going to do what he never, ever did―speak up―and ask what the guy meant by that, a ringing phone cut him off. Right when he was about to ask if he lived in the building, too.

He turned his back to Kemna and spoke with whoever was on the other end, his shoulders shaking as he laughed before hanging up. He looked at Kenma, said, “Duty calls.” He stood up, brushed the dirt and dust off the back of his sweats as he added, “I’m Kuroo, by the way.” 

And he was gone, leaving Kenma with far too many unanswered questions, and if he was being honest, he hated those kinds of levels. Puzzles, really? Especially word ones, the most boring thing you could ever add into a game. If the devs were gonna add shit like that, they should at least make them enjoyable. This, that interaction, was not an enjoyable puzzle. At all. 

That name came off as familiar like he heard it or had seen it somewhere. He tried it out in his head, and it felt like it belonged there, tucked somewhere in his brain. 

Kenma looked back down at his Switch and chewed the inside of his cheek as he tried to beat one more level before going back to his apartment. He’d been gone for a while and didn’t need Hinata worrying more than necessary. He was a bully like that, leaving without so much of a thought and found slight joy in hearing Hinata trying to scold him for disappearing so sneakily. It made him feel like a stealth character in an RPG. 

As soon as he reached the end of the level, moments before with the end in sight, his Switched died. Right there. Without even bothering to wait for him to get to a saving point. Kenma dropped the device into his lap, disbelief taking over, and he fell back. Numb. 

He left the roof, descended the rickety stairs, and entered the warmth of the building with a slam of the door behind him. Now everyone on that floor, and maybe even a few floors below, could hear his anger as he stomped down the hall and entered his shared apartment with the same passion. And he regretted it right away. Being loud like that, especially at night when people were trying to sleep, wasn’t helping him with his goal of staying unnoticed. Quiet. Small. 

His roommates stopped. Stared. Four pairs of eyes stared at him. Not shocked but confused as to what could have possibly angered him to such an extent. He wasn’t one to show much emotion. But it clicked behind Tsukishima’s head, as clear as day, that it was something video game-related. 

“Kenma!” Hinata shouted from across the room, running over with open arms like he hadn’t seen his friend in so long, and waiting to avoid the contact, Kenma stepped out of the way. Hinata pouted, crossed his arms. “Rude.”

“What is it this time?” Tsukishima asked from one of the single chairs. Unlike the other two, there was amusement in his eyes. “What’s got you so worked up?”

“Shut up.” 

“Snappy, aren’t we? What, did your Switch die?” 

One look in Kenma’s eyes and the question was answered. 

“Dude, where even were you?” Tanaka asked. He was in the kitchen, a simple space with only a few counters and a small stove as well as an okay-sized fridge, putting together a sandwich.

Kenma kicked his shoes off and sat on the couch next to Hinata, who had started scrolling through his phone. Instagram, probably, because he had a look of offence on his face meaning Kageyama, his boyfriend, commented something insulting. “I went on a walk.”

“With your Switch?” Tsukishima asked. 

“And you came back angry?” Tanaka questioned, not sitting on the other end of the sofa.

“His Switch died. He wouldn’t have come back so soon if it hadn't,” Tsukishima told him. 

On the carpet, Nishinoya rolled from his stomach to his back and gazed up at Kageyama. “I get you, dude. Fucked up the whole walk? Yeah, I get it.” He nodded. “Once, a squirrel stole, like, half my fries and it really pissed me off.” Another nod before he said, “Oh! Man, you missed it. Tsukishima beat us. He got fourth place.” 

Everyone, mainly Tsukishima, speculated that Nishinoya had to have some sort of form ADHD with all the endless talking he did and his constant need to be moving in some form. The guy, who had a “shitty” blonde streak―also according to Tsukishima―in the front of his hair that he liked to spike up to make himself come off as taller, could only really focus on volleyball. 

“Tanaka was so pissed, I bet he still is―” 

“Bro, he doesn’t need to know that. No one needs to know that.” Tanaka pouted as he took a bite of his sandwich. 

Across the room, Tsukishima turned his phone screen towards the others, “Everyone knows. I took a picture and posted it on Instagram. Twitter, too.”

Life seeped from Tanaka, and he genuinely looked crushed at the fact that his “bro” would do such a thing to hurt his pride. He clenched a fist full of his shirt, tilting his head back in mock pain. 

“How could you hurt me like that, dude?” 

Tsukishima laughed. “Bold of you to assume I care about your feelings.” 

Tanaka threw his head back more, before falling onto Kenma’s lap and then was pushed onto the floor without a moment’s hesitation. Nishinoya pulled his friend’s head against his chest and stroked his bald head, telling him that Tsukishima was just a bully and he wasn’t that good and how Kiyoko would still love him even if he was a “loser” and a “failure”. 

If Kenma had joined them, he would've done better than fourth place. He mastered Mario Kart many years prior, like it was the only thing keeping him from dying, and unlocked every character and each of their variations. It took many sleepless nights, but it was worth it in the end.

“You're a monster, Tsukki,” Nishinoya said.

The look on Tsukishima’s face changed in an instant. From amused to nearly horrified in a moment. The nickname used, Tsukki, was the name his boyfriend used in place of his real name, and every time it embarrassed him, to death almost. Tanaka and Nishinoya both burst out laughing upon seeing the blonde's face flush bright red in a matter of seconds. He turned back to his book, held it up a little higher in front of his face as a method of hiding, and ignored them as best he could. Though, such laughing was hard to ignore, so much so the neighbours needed to bang on the walls and tell them to shut up before a complaint was filed. 

Nishinoya lifted his legs into the air, high above his head, as he rubbed his now sore stomach. Face stained with tears, cheeks red from laughing, he asked, still out of breath, “Kenma, are you coming to the bonfire with us?”

“No.” Flat. Unforgiving. 

“Yes, you are.” He somersaulted and sat up on his knees, looking at Tsukishima. “And you are, too.”

“No, I’m not―”

“No way―” 

The two spoke at the same time, both denying the offer that hardly sounded like an offer. 

“But you guys never come!” he threw his arms up and fell back onto Tanaka’s stomach. “Stop being sticks in the damn mud.” 

Tsukishima wasn’t a people person, a well-known fact amongst the group, and always refused to go out with them, including but not limited to school events, which the bonfire just so happened to be. Crowds weren’t his thing. Loud places made him feel stuck, similar to Kenma. He only managed to bag himself a boyfriend because they were childhood friends and soulmates. Yamaguchi basically bullied his way into Tsukishima’s life, the way the others had. 

But the bonfire wasn’t much of a social event in the grand scheme of things, or when looked at in a different light. It wasn’t open to anyone who wasn’t part of their college volleyball team, and maybe a few of their friends, and it was held near the end of the school year, somewhere in the spring when the snow melted but before it got too hot (not that it ever got hot though). The year before they, Tanaka and Nishinoya, tried to tell Tsukishima that it's not like he was going to be around a bunch of strangers. He knew those people, spent hours upon hours practising with them, travelling to different cities for their away games. A bonus was that they’d be outside, so the noise would be rather low, and he wouldn’t have to interact with anyone other than them.

They told Kenma the same thing. He knew them, but he didn’t care. A bonfire sounded like a boring level. What even was the reward?

“As if I’d want to be seen with you idiots,” Tsukishima had told them at the end of their pitch, which they had spent countless hours trying to perfect. And for what? Just for some tall brat with stupid glasses to break their hearts. They sulked about it for several days to follow, and not once did Tsukishima apologize. 

Tanaka gave a pat to his best friend’s head and sat up. Determined, he said, “Tsukishima, I will buy you a new dinosaur figure. And Kenma, I will buy you a new video game.” 

Hinata shot up, smiling wide, as he asked, “Tanaka! Will you buy me a snack if I go, too?” 

Everyone blinked. Slow. “Weren’t you going anyway?”

“Well, yeah. But it's only fair if I get something, too.”

Tanaka waved his head. “Right, yeah, whatever you say, dude.” 

Tsukishima visibly chewed the inside of his cheek. Behind his eyes, that galaxy brain of his worked over the offer presented to him. “Get me dinosaurs chicken nuggets too and you’ll have a deal.” 

“Really? Dinosaur nuggets?” Hinata asked. 

“As if you have any room to talk, Shorty. You’ll probably get Kool-Aid and Oreos. At least I have standards.” 

Hinata was standing, fists clenched as he demanded, “You take that back!” 

Nishinoya and Tanaka, still on the ground internally celebrating their win, looked at one another. Their lips said nothing as their eyes said everything. 

_Here we go again_.

★彡

  
On his walk home from having just given a presentation for one of his classes, not the ideal way to spend his Saturday afternoon, Kenma thought about the boy from the rooftop. The one who crashed his alone time and practically refused to leave. Such thoughts weren’t ones he found pleasant, nor was he fond of them being so intrusive, but something about that kid's odd determination was interesting. That, and Kenma was far too curious about the way the kid truly looked than he’d like to admit. Light from the moon did little to reveal anything but his most prevalent features, his wild hair and the slimness that didn’t make the tallness of his build. It could have been the moon, but he was pale, too. Way too pale. Almost translucent, but really, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was just the horrid lighting that night. 

He wondered who he was, given the fact that Kenma was a long time resident of his apartment complex and knew everyone who lived there. The old couple who immigrated from Germany, the single mother with two sets of twin boys, and the single man who was hardly ever there, really only using the space to sleep and shower. 

There was an older woman that lived there alone, though it wasn’t always that way. A couple of years before, her husband died from cancer. She told Kenma that she’d been there since the seventies. I watched the place fall apart and be rebuilt, she’d said during one of their brief meetings in the hall. Sometimes, he met with her to give her some company, having lost her husband and all, he was certain she felt rather alone. He did, too. Sometimes. Old people weren’t loud, or at least she wasn’t, so the company was bearable. 

That boy was a mystery. It was obvious that he lived in the building, maybe even on Kenam’s floor, or else he wouldn’t have known about the door. He wouldn’t have been able to discover it's jankiness or even see the fire escape unless he lived on that floor, seeing as how the stairs blocked only some of the windows on his floor. Only his floor. But then again, why was he trying to go outside, anyway? It was cold, even for spring, and cloudy so it's not like he could properly stargaze. Besides, the lights polluted the sky, blocked it out and prevented anyone from seeing the faraway stars, the ones worth seeing. 

By the time he arrived back home, the others were dressed in layers of long sleeves and hoodies in preparation for the bonfire. Tsukishima even had a thin pair of gloves on, and Tanaka wore a beanie. Hinata wore a puffy coat.

“You didn’t eat, right?” Nishinoya asked Kenma, following him to his room, where he stood in the doorway. Of course, he had to follow him.

Kenma pulled a tracksuit jacket, thin and breathable in material but acted like a thermal cup in the sense that it helped trap eat, from his dresser. He wasn’t lucky enough to not have to share a room, like Tsukishima; however, whereas sometimes it bothered Kenma that he had to be quiet while Hinata slept, it didn’t seem to bother Tanaka or Nishinoya very much. To them, it was like a never-ending sleepover. On the nights Tanaka’s girlfriend was over, Nishinoya was kicked out for the night, banished to the couch unless Tsukishima was feeling nice enough to let him sleep on their floor. That was rare. 

A warmer hoodie was pulled on over his tracksuit jacket, black and woolly on the inside, perfect on days where the sun felt like hiding behind the clouds like it just decided it wasn’t going to do its job anymore and take a break that wasn’t even earned. Rude. Unprofessional. It made up for the rudeness by having large pockets he could shove his 3DS into. 

“Are we walking?” Kenma inquired and pushed Nishinoya out of the way so he could close his bedroom door. 

“No,” Tsukishima said. “We’ll take my care in case it gets shittier.” And he was relieved by that answer. He wouldn’t have to get exhausted or risk sweating under his layers. 

They walked down the short, brief hallway, seeing that Tsukishima, Hinata, and Tanaka were already halfway out the door. 

Tanaka beamed at them and pulled the door wide open for them, tipping his head at them as they walked out. “Sir,” to Kenma and, “M’lady” to Nishinoya who gave a full-on curtsy in return, and then the door was shut and locked behind them. 

The hallways smelled faintly of cinnamon, maybe even a hint of lemon somewhere in the mix, thanks to whoever was baking, and on their way down the hall Nishinoya said he’d have to get himself some of whatever was being made or all hell would break loose. Tsukishima told them to be quiet, or he’d made them walk home in the rain because there’s no way they could afford any more complaints. Being homeless isn’t on my agenda. As if he’d be homeless. His mother would welcome his tall ass back home with open arms and a pie. It wasn’t the same for the others.

Outside, Tanaka tried to open the passenger seat door and was met with a look that struck fear right down the centre of his heart from Tsukishima. Tanaka, Hinata, and Nishinoya were banned from sitting in the front of Tsukishima’s car when they decided to get drunk and put their filthy, muddy shoes all over the dashboard. That car, it's pristine condition and shining inside, was handed down to him from his brother when he graduated high school. It was his gift. Right away, it became his pride. 

Kenma wasn’t Tsukishima’s first or second or even third choice for a passenger. Their conversations, just between the two of them, were scarce and borderline nonexistent. Though both were rather reserved with walls as high as their heads and unapproachable exteriors, they had little to nothing in common aside from having a good head on their shoulders. Other than that, they shared nothing. But Kenma was by far the least annoying of the group, and the least likely to rub his dirty shoes all over the dashboard, so he was granted the privilege of being able to sit in the front. 

They pulled up to the beach, and in a hoard, they all clambered out of the car. As they descended the slight hill, towards the bonfire itself and the lake, where all the food was, Kenma caught wind of a conversation. 

“So, are we getting laid tonight?” Nishinoya asked Tsukishima. 

“That wasn’t my goal, no,” he said and crossed his arms. “I have a boyfriend, anyway."

“Fine. Deal with your sexual frustration alone, but I need to get laid. Will you help?”

“The only thing that wants to fuck you is your hand. And even then I’m sure if it could literally do anything else, it would. No one wants to go anywhere near your dick cheese.”

He gave a fake gasp and pressed a hand over his heart. Lowered his head. “You’re a terrible wingman, dude.”

“I’m doing a civil service by keeping your dick away from the girls by damaging your ego,” he said.

“I’m so hungry, man!” Nishinoya said as the group reached the grill. Kenma had stuck with. He felt he’d stick out of place if he stayed by himself, like a giant flash sign. At least he could blend in with the others. 

Kenma couldn’t stand when Nishinoya, or Tanaka for that matter, ate. Their stomachs were endless voids, bottomless pits, and the sounds they made when they chewed made Kenma want to start ripping his toenails off one by one. 

And horny, he thought just as Tanaka said, “And horny.”

Ha.

“I could really, really use a blowjob. Or maybe I just need to get laid in general.”

“Yeah? And who’s gonna get into bed with your crusty ass? There’s like… four girls at our college, dude. One of them is taken by our bald friend over there, two are lesbians, and the other is Yachi,” Tsukshima said. 

Deep down, Kenma knew that Nishinoya was in love with Asahi, a giant man from the club with long, brown hair he kept tied up in a tight bun. One would say he was scary, what with his large frame and scruffs of facial hair, but he was a softy at heart. And also competitive. So competitive it became scary. 

You’d have to be a special kind of idiot to not see the way Nishinoya looked at Asahi. He’d been staring at Asahi in private for years, since middle school, but he always denied it because he was too much of an idiot to recognize his own feelings. Those kinds of feelings. 

“Damn, man, hitting me with such truth,” Nishinoya whined and grabbed a fist full of his own shirt before getting more food from the table. “Guess I’ll just eat away my feelings.” 

"Just like the rest of us,” Tanaka chimed in between large bites of pork. 

Hinata had run off somewhere, chatting with some random bystanders who were just trying to enjoy their afternoon on the beach no doubt, and without Hinata, he didn’t feel much of a need to stick around to socialize. He abandoned the others and their bickering, having grown tired of it, and snuck off to the lake. Still frozen, though not very thick anymore, it glistened or at least tried to under the very little light that managed to peek through the clouds. He sat on the sand, pulled the DS out from his pocket, and loaded up Super Mario 3D Land.

He fell engrossed in the game. Eyes focused on the screen, brows slightly furrowed in concentration. Before that, he’d beaten the game. Several times, actually, but he was doing a completionist run that time around. The goal was to collect all the coins and extra stars he could. 

Upon dying, an unfortunate accident filling him with rage caused by the sudden scream of someone ripping away his focus long enough for a boomerang attack to screw his day up, he looked up at the sky and saw a note. For him. Written with the smoke from a plane. I think I know who you are. And he was shaken up, confused, unaware of what he should say back. If he should say anything back. How the hell does he even respond to something like that?

“Hey, you,” a voice said, and it took Kenma a moment to find the source. For a split second, he had doubts that the voice was speaking to him in the first place. Behind him stood a boy, tall with black hair resembling a rooster’s tail dressed in sweats and a hoodie. A roosters head. 

The boy from the roof. Why was he there? He wasn’t part of the volleyball team, Kenma knew for a fact that he’d never see him before. What was his name again? Kuroo? There was no Kuroo on the team. Not even a bench warmer. 

Kuroo sat down on the sand, a good foot or so away from Kenma. From there, he could see things he hadn’t seen on the roof in the dark. Like, his eyes. They were a melt of autumn tones, and every shade of pale and golden brown spreading out to a darker brown border. Warm, lively, and sparkled with mirth. Golden like sun-warmed honey. Sweet. Vivid. They were the forest floor, dark moss creeping over rich soil. Hazel, maybe. 

His hair. Black like the darkest ink or the thickest charcoal. Obsidian. Spiked up in the back with some weird fringe-bang combination that hung in front of his right eye. 

There was a closed book he placed on the sand, like a notebook or sketchbook, and a pen stationed behind his ear. An artist?

A tube came out of his nose, held in place on his cheek with a piece of clear tape, and wrapped around his ear, stopping at his collarbone. On the end was something purple, like a cap of sorts. That was something Kenma hadn’t noticed that night on the roof. 

“You aren’t on the team,” was the first thing to leave his mouth. 

Kenma ripped his eyes away from the boy named Kuroo, his rage having long since subsided due to the distraction he couldn’t decide if he should be annoyed over or not, and looked back down at his DS. He restarted the level from his last checkpoint, nearly halfway through the level, and gave a large sigh. Socializing didn’t seem all too ideal then, it's not like he wanted to be there anyway. 

He smiled, clenched his shirt with his hand, and let out a laugh that almost sounded pained. “Ouch. So cold.” Kuroo leaned back into the sand. “As much as I’d like to be, I’m not. But my friend is. Bokuto? I’m sure you know him if you’re on the team.” 

Bokuto. The kid who looked like an owl? Dyed white and black hair spiked up? Kenma remembered him to be tall and outgoing and loud, good at spiking but really not someone he’d hang out with. That, though, could be argued considering he was friends with Hinata, a loud and outgoing idiot, and Kenma lived with Hinata’s friends. Not really by choice. It was better than being stuck in the college dorms. Sometimes he felt like he would’ve preferred the dorms. But that was money he nor his family had. 

Kenma shrugged. Once again, the end of the godforsaken level was insight. If he lost only hell knew how he’d react. He hated losing. 

“Not much of a talker, are we?” Pause. Just long enough. “It's beautiful, isn’t it? The view?” 

Kenma looked up, after pausing, of course, took a short glance at the frozen lake in front of them, and then finally, for the first time, met the eyes of the boy. Of Kuroo. 

“The cold isn’t, Kuroo,” he used his name like it was an insult. “Your standards of 'pretty'"―Kenma used air quotes―"must be pretty damn low." He looked back to his DS.

Another laugh. Kenma could hear Kuroo smile. “Could be. You know, you’re pretty.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek. “Your standards really are low then.”

“It's subjective.”

“Right.”

“Can I draw you?”

Finally, Kenma looked at him. Really looked at him. In his hands was the pencil that had previously been tucked behind his ear and on his lap was the sketch pad with fancy writings on the front. It looked expensive. His eyes were soft, kind, lips pursed into a thin line, and he was still looking at Kenma. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed, an astonishing contrast to his eyes. Obviously, it was a serious question. And it caught Kenma off guard. 

All the while his heart 

s o p d

t p e

right in its tracks only to pick back up at a pace that reminded him of having to run and he hated it. His face had flushed red, bright and warm and annoying. 

_Can I draw you? What the hell?_

He turned back away, using the curtains of his dyed hair, bright blonde, to hide his face. “Fine.”

To distract himself, he focused back on the game, and yet his mind couldn’t help but wonder. The way Kuroo spoke held a weight of familiarity to it; the only king Kenma could compare it to was the way his soulmate wrote. Playful, kind. He almost asked Kuroo if he liked chemistry. Almost. He cut the thought off before it could leave his mouth because that would be weird, wouldn’t it? Asking some stranger if he was into chemistry because his soulmate, whom he was certain must’ve lived far away due to having not met them after all these years of knowing they existed, was creepy. 

Coughing. Harsh. For a moment he believed it had been coming from the DS for some reason, but the world tuned back in. He realized he was back in reality. 

Kuroo had stopped drawing. His hands were covering his mouth, hunched over a bit, and Kenma was by his side before he knew it, asking what's wrong, wondering what he should be doing. If anything at all. He sat with his hands dug into the cold sand until Kuroo stopped.

When he did, he looked at Kenma with tears lining his eyes. He didn’t know what those meant. Was he in pain? Was it that intense to him? He was so out of breath, gasping gasping gasping, until finally, he smiled. Suddenly Kenma was even more lost than before. 

“What the hell?” Kenma asked, frustrated by his own confusion. 

“Ah, damn. It happens sometimes.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Stand down, man, I’m fine.” 

Kenma scooted back, picked his DS up, and dusted the sand off the screen. Damn it. The top screen was a little scratched. 

Kuroo began to shiver. The sun was starting to set against the lake, casting its reddish-orange glow atop the ice, it's pinkish-purple colours along the clouds, and it was getting colder. Kenma was perplexed. He stood. Wiped away all the sand from his pants. 

“If you’re cold the bonfire will warm you up,” Kenma said. Flat. He tried to act unconcerned. “Do you need help getting up?”

He shook his head and pulled himself up. “I’d probably push you over or something if you tried to help.”

The distance between their heads, the height difference, was very apparent then. It wasn’t the largest gap in the world, not by any means, but it wasn’t the smallest either. A guy like him, with his height, would probably be good at volleyball. Or a valuable asset at the very least. 

Kenma started walking towards the fire just as Kuroo said, “I could’ve stayed there forever.”

He thought, no. He couldn't disagree more. While he didn’t hate the city, he grew tired of the same views. The same people. It was a small city, tucked away, not too far from a much larger city, one like New York, but far enough. Something about the place screamed, “COME HERE AND LET YOUR DREAMS DIE”.

When did the once pretty mountains start to loom over him, when did he start to hate them? The rain… when did he start to find himself disgusted by its smell, its sound? 

An hour and very little conversation later, it started to drizzle. Light, small taps of rain. An ethereal sound, the kind people always talk about falling asleep to because it's just that peaceful. Tsukishima had long since been complaining about how cold the air was becoming, but the rain was the last straw. He was up, yelling that his gaggle of idiots, and Kenma who wasn’t grouped in with the idiots, needed to go to his car or he’d leave them to walk home in the rain. 

Tanaka and Hinata took off racing up the hill, Tsukshima lagging behind at a slow walking pace. 

“I have to go,” Kenma said to Kuroo, cutting off the conversation that had just started to pick up. Talking to him was weird, like Kenma had known him for years, like he’d known him forever, and he didn’t get it. He was comfortable.

“You’re part of the gaggle of idiots?” Kuroo asked, half amused. 

Kenma clicked his tongue and shook his head, offended as he stood. “No.” He stopped short of leaving, turned around to say, “I’m Kenma, by the way.”

Behind him, Kuroo yelled, “Later Kenma!” 

“Hey, it was nice seeing you, Kenma!” Was that Bokuto? He didn’t look back to see because he knew Kuroo was staring at him.


	2. how light carries on endlessly, even after death

They ran into each other in the halls once. Kuroo was getting ready to leave for classes and Kenma had just gotten home. He was shocked. Embarrassed? He wasn’t sure. Kuroo said hello, tried to make small talk, and Kenma tried to not be rude but didn’t now how to go along. Small talk wasn’t his thing. 

A few days later, the same thing happened. Kenma wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to seeing Kuroo. He was a handsome guy and it felt incomprehensible sometimes. Like he couldn’t understand it. How was he supposed to beat someone if he couldn't understand them?

It almost became a regular thing to meet on the roof most nights. No one talked about it or spoke the plans out in the open. The coincidence of it all stopped feeling like a coincidence after the fifth time Kenma went up to the roof and found Kuroo there before him, listening to music while doing what was presumed as homework. Or drawing. He was always drawing. 

And they talked. They talked about tattoos, how Kuroo would like to get some, and how he’s never seen the ocean before even though he’s always lived rather close to it. He’s always wanted to. Kenma discovered he was an art student. He would’ve done volleyball but, as he put it, “health issues” have prevented that, so as a compromise he skateboarded. Skateboarded. Kenma thought he could recall his soulmate mentioning those things once, skateboards and art, but it felt like so long ago. He couldn’t remember properly.

Kenma felt like there were a lot of similarities between Kuroo and his soulmate, and he wanted to ask. He almost did several times, but cut himself off. He didn’t want to presume such a thing and then look like a fool because he was wrong. 

When it started to rain, heavy and loud one night on the roof, Kuroo asked Kenma if he’d like to go hang out in his apartment.  _ The fun doesn’t have to stop, _ he had said. 

Kenma said yes. 

**★彡**

Kuroo had always found it strange the way doctors could get a heart to beat again after it stopped. The way they could just… shock it back to life. Sometimes he put his fingers to his neck or wrist to feel his pulse and wondered if it's actually beating. He always wondered how it worked.

Then his heart was racing. He and Bokuto were standing in their apartment living room, wet and half-naked, and Kenma was there, too. He was sitting by the space heater, shirtless with a thin blanket poorly wrapped around his shoulders and he was  _ not  _ staring. Bokuto was staring at Kuroo while he  _ did not  _ stare at Kenma who’s gazing at the screen of his phone.

When he met Bokuto’s eyes, he was smirking. He nudged Kuroo in the ribs with his elbow, cocked his head, clearly insinuating something and he shook his head. Firmly. Glared at him because he already felt weird asking Kenma to come to his apartment, and now there were two other wet, half-naked men there too. In his defense, he’d been under the impression that Bokuto and Akaashi were on a date. But when he came back, he saw both of them drenched in water. 

But Kenma was still shivering. Kuroo pulled on a clean shirt, careful to not get his feeding tube caught, and walked to his room. Tucked away in one of the dressers were his shirts, neatly folded and organized. He grabbed one with some cheesy chemistry pun on it and took it to the living room.

Kenma gave a quiet thank you and light nod in return before pulling the shirt on over his head. “Thanks.” He looked up from his phone fully, made eye contact with Kuroo for a split second, and then looked back down. “So, what’re we gonna do?” 

Kuroo opened his mouth, then stopped as he began coughing. Loud, wet. It went on for a long while, and he didn’t have to say anything before someone, Akaashi, appeared by Kuroo’s side with a cannula and a metal tank full of oxygen. He weaved the clear tube over his ears and tucked the breathing parts inside his nose. After a while, the discomfort of having both his feeding tube and cannula in at the same time stopped being uncomfortable. Only after a really long while. 

The boy, with wide eyes so golden-brown they came off as sun-kissed and blonde hair with dark roots that reminded Kuroo off pudding, spoke loud enough for everyone to hear for the first time since being taken to the apartment. “Are you sick?” 

“Something like that.”

“He’s got bad lungs, Kenma.” Bokuto said Kenma’s name like they were friends, but given the way he described his relationship with Kenma at the bonfire after he left said otherwise. He never really spoke with anyone other than Hinata, the kid that looked like an orange, and sometimes the orange’s friends. Meaning, he most certainly never dealt with Bokuto. 

“Oh.”

_ Oh? _

“Don’t be too sad about it now,” Kuroo said, joking. “This shitty world won’t beat me.”

“We’ll kick the world’s ass!” Bokuto shouted and pumped his fist up into the air. 

“Quiet,” Akaashi scolded. Put a finger up to his lips and narrowed his eyes, sighing. “The neighbors.” 

Bokuto stuck his tongue out. “They can suck my ass.”

“No, that’s Akaashi’s job.”

Dead silence. 

Many seconds of silence before Kuroo and Bokuto both erupted with laughter, slapping their knees and throwing their heads back. Tears forming in their eyes, stomachs hurting. And then coughing, from both, but Kuroo’s continued long after Bokuto’s ended. 

“Really though,” Kuroo said, breathless from all the coughing, “The doctors said I’m getting better, not cured, but better and approved for me to go back to classes. And really, thank God for that. I was getting sick, pun intended, and tired of that damn hospital.” He crossed his arms. 

Kenma nodded. 

“We should watch a movie,” Akaashi said. 

“The Sonic movie?” Kenma asked, and it was the first time Kuroo saw his eyes light up. The Sonic movie. Cute. 

“I mean, sure. I could rent it.”

“Well then,” Kuroo placed his hands on his hips, “I’ll go make popcorn and set my machine up.”

He walked to the kitchen, pulling his tank behind him, and threw a bag of popcorn into the microwave before grabbing a syringe. Kuroo popped the end of his feeding tube off and used the syringe, now filled with water, to flush away any gunk that could keep the food from flowing. 

The food, which wasn’t really food, was more or less a powder he added to water to help his body gain more nutrients as despite eating quite often, he struggled to gain and keep weight. It was the disease screwing up his body. He grabbed one of the powders that were supposed to taste like a vanilla milkshake, an irrelevant factor, and mixed it into a blender full of water. He poured the blended substance into one of his bags and hung it on the pole, as he called it, and attached the tube on the pole to the one that went through his nose. On the machine was a timer where he placed the tube, which was set to stop and sinch the flow of food after about six hours. Well, normally anyway. That night he set it for the duration of the movie. 

Bokuto came in, placed a hand on Kuroo’s shoulder with a little force, and asked, “So, Kenma?” He leaned against the counters. 

Kuroo snorted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Bokuto shook his head. “He’s just… quiet, you know? I mean, I don’t know him as well as Hinata and those guys, he does seem rather… free around them, if that makes sense.” He sighed, continued, “But you seem happier. And what, it's only been… a few weeks? Have you fallen for him?”

Kuroo smiled, tried to make it sly but it came out wrong. Like he was constipated. “I’m not sure? He’s… cute. I like talking to him.”

“Right, you like talking to him.” He stared at Kuroo, examining his features, before shrugging. “Well, dude, if you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Anything for my best bud.”

And then he walked out.

By the time he had finished setting his tube up, the popcorn was done. Kuroo dumped the whole bag into one giant bowl and struggled to pull not only his tank by also his pole while carrying the bowl. However, he managed and sat the bowl on the center table. Akaashi had already started the movie. Bokuto and Kenma were staring at the television in wonder. Well, Bokuto had more wonder whereas Kenma had more… concentration. Determination? He seemed to be enjoying himself nonetheless, and for that, Kuroo was glad. 

He didn’t take his eyes off Kenma almost the whole movie. His time was spent looking at Kenma, trying to maybe possibly catch his eyes even for a moment, but he was too sucked into the movie. He was still curled up on the floor by the space heater wearing one of Kuroo’s stupid science shirts, a blanket still sitting loosely on his shoulders. 

When it ended, he looked hurt. And it was almost funny.

“That was fucking great,” Bokuto said, and Kuroo tried to nod like he had been paying attention. 

“It's late.” Akaashi stretched his arms above his head. 

“Oh hell no, old man.” Bokuto firmly shook his head. “No no no. You are not going to bed yet.”

Akaashi gave Bokuto a challenging look. Brows raised, arms crossed over his chest tightly. “Then tell me, what should we do?”

And Bokuto tripped over his words because he hadn’t thought he’d make it that far in the conversation. Now, he was clearly at a loss. 

Kuroo stepped in, said, “It sounds like the rain has stopped. We could go on a drive to Eagle’s Nest, that is, if Akaashi is willing to take us.” He looked at Akaashi, gave a fake pout and tried to make his eyes look sad. “Come on, dad.”

“Yeah, c’mon, dad,” Bokuto said, trying to keep himself from cracking up. 

He failed. And Kuroo failed, too. They were like that, Bokuto and Kuroo. They fed off of each other’s bullshit. One would start laughing and the other couldn’t help but join. Their laughter was contagious, typically only to each other, as very few people understood what they were losing their shit over at any given moment. Akaashi, the guy who spent most of his time with those two idiots, was often lost to their inside jokes or… jokes in general. 

“Kenma, do you want to come?” Akaashi turned his attention away from the laughing bobble heads.

“Uh…” he trailed on. “Sure?”

“You sure?” 

He nodded. 

So Kuroo gave Kenma one of his hoodies, a sort of awkward interaction between the two, and they left the apartment. Akaashi drove a larger car, one that made Kuroo think of him as a soccer mom because it had three rows of seats instead of two, but in actuality, his mom gave it to him. It was originally hers, but she bought herself a new car now that Akaashi had grown up and she didn’t have to drive him around as often anymore. 

They were sitting in the car before Kuroo knew it, him and Kenma in the back while Akaashi drove and Bokuto sat next to him. Of course. Kenma was staring out the window, eyeing the vast mountains and dense forests surrounding them as we slowly made their way away from the town like he’s never seen it before. He asked a question about all the dead trees. Someone told him in the early two-thousands, there was a pine beetle infestation and they ate away at the trees, killing them. Did he really not know that?

Akaashi turned onto a dirt road and started driving up a mountain series of tight turns that are like a corkscrew. A road like that was meant for dirt bikes and ATVs, not cars that are on their last legs of life. The car made an awful sound, struggled to make the climb over several large rocks, and Akaashi was talking to it, in a sweet voice that’s like trying to coax a child to do something they don’t want to do, so basically whenever he tried to get Bokuto to do something like clean the dishes.

And it's begun to piss Kuroo off so he said, “Come on you hunk of shit, move your ass,” and the car made the climb, still with that horrible noise. When he glanced around, everyone was staring at him like he’s just done the world’s most impressive magic trick. He rolled with it.

“I know, I’m a magic man, you don’t have to tell me,” Kuroo said and gave a slight bow.

Kenma snorted, or at least it sounded like a snort, and Kuroo was rather shocked whilst he saw Akaashi and Bokuto sharing smiles from the front.

Somehow, they made it, and they made it alive, too. Akaashi parked the car not too far away from the edge of the cliff. Several large rocks, big enough to have at least three people sitting on them, lined a few areas of the edge, and just beyond those rocks was a large drop. Down below were even more rocks, harshly edged and pointed. Trees spanned out all around the, and below them as well. 

Looking straight ahead revealed one of the largest lakes in the area. Vast and blue, twinkling underneath the light of the moon, still frozen. The air began to chill further, dropping and dropping with each passing minute. 

Kenma tilted his head, trying to get a peek through the window. “Now, this is a view,” he said softly. "I never knew this place existed."

“It's beautiful until you find out people come up here to fuck,” Bokuto said, scooting out of the car. 

“Their semen is everywhere.” Kuroo let out a fake shiver.

Akaashi looked like he wanted to scold them judging by the scowl on his face, but he said nothing as he turned the car off and climbed out.

Bokuto and Kuroo shared a quiet look, one snickered and the other silently imitated Akaashi. They followed Kenma and Akaashi to the front of the car, hoisted themselves onto the hood, and watched the stars appear from behind the clouds. 

Kuroo started to talk once the stars finally showed themselves. He pointed out constellations they would otherwise miss, he told them where certain planets and even distant stars were positioned around that time of year.  _ Neptune should be around here,  _ he said while pointing.  _ Jupiter may be there.  _ He told them how stars were born, how they die, how vast and expansive their universal back yard was.

Science, all kinds though he favored chemistry, was his thing. Since he was a child he always loved the science behind things, and astronomy was simply a pastime he spent a little too much time on.

Kenma was the only one who wasn't pretending to listen. Bokuto and Akaashi had always zoned out or walked out, while he’s gone on those small tangents. For a while, he made them listen to him as a way of punishment. 

But him… this small blonde was staring at Kuroo like it's the first time he had ever seen him and he had wonder in his eyes, curiosity, and interest. 

Kuroo tried to play it off. “Weren’t you taught that staring is rude?” He tried to give a playful smile.

His brows shot up in temporary alarm, dropping as his lips settled into a thin line, red tinting his cheeks like he was embarrassed. Was he embarrassed? “You’re kinda cute when you ramble.”

Air caught in his lungs, clogged my throat, and for a moment he wondered if he had his oxygen in. Actually checked, nearly sighs when he found that he hadn’t taken it out.

And then I said it. Without thought. “You too.”

Akaashi dared to snort at him. Bokuto was looking at Kuroo like he failed him (what he may have possibly failed was unbeknownst to him).

He was up, off the hood of the truck, and he walked towards the edge of the cliff, telling them I’ll be back because he suddenly had to piss. He ogled at the trees below, watching them bend with the wind. Oh, to throw himself off the cliff. 

_ Is today a good day to die? _

This would be a good moment to die in. He couldn’t ever live it down. 

“Dude,” a voice said from beside him. 

“What’s up?” Kuroo asked. He tried to sound normal. 

In the dark, he heard him huff and saw him cross his arms over his chest. “You have a crush on him. I can see it. Akaashi can too.”

“Not possible.” Kuroo shook his head firmly. It wasn’t that, or at least, that’s what he tried to convince himself knowing full well that Bokuto was probably right. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“Says someone who’s never had one. It's possible, dude. Very possible. I see the way you look at him. I’ve only seen that look once, and it was because you pushed a guy off a skateboard after he catcalled some girl from our class.”

Kuroo wasn’t sure it was a good idea to love. Sure, he lived life like there was no tomorrow because his fate, death, was inevitable. It had been staring him in the face for years. Hell, he came close to touching it one too many times. He’s learned that it's easier to fall in love with the idea of something than it is to carry it out and live with that idea as a reality. Love was an idea. His soulmate was an idea.

And yet, he'd fallen for his soulmate years ago… Their words knocked on Kuroo's heart several times before he caved.

Kenma was a fantasy. He was a beautiful idea. A tantalizing thought that spoke so much hope and dream to Kuroo. A reality that was being dangled in front of him and he wanted, so badly, to grab ahold and never let go. But these shackles that kept him rooted in place were too many, too tight, his chains, too heavy. To think that he could simply be lifted free was naïve. 

He was an idea Kuroo learned to love as just that, an idea, over the past several weeks. It's best that way. It's easiest.

“He could be good for you,” Bokuto told him after I fell silent for too long. “A crush isn’t the end of the world.” 

“Maybe,” Kuroo responded, shifting around and headed back to the car. Bokuto was on his heels, his eyes burned a hole into the back of Kuroo's head as a last resort, as a last hope.

The air was silent. No wind. No rustling of trees or bushes. Kenma was playing a game on his phone and Akaashi was gazing up at the stars, eyes dancing along each glowing orb. Bokuto gasped.

He grabbed Akaashi’s hand, forcing Kenma to put down his phone so she could grab his hand, too. “Kenma, grab Kuroo’s hand,” he said urgently, forcefully because it wasn't a request “I saw a shooting star. Hold your breaths and make a wish.”

Kenma did, with hesitation, a grip so soft and gentle and hardly noticeable.

they looked up at the sky, all of them in tandem

the sky told them  _ Make a wish _

as they’re sat there, on the edge of a cliff known as the Eagle's Nest

everyone was watching the sky, holding their breaths and making their wishes 

but he was too busy watching the boy in  _ his  _ hoodie with a phone in his lap, holding his breath up at the sky

he was f a i n t by the time he caught his breath.

Finally, he looked up too

The sky fell

in a silver drop

a drop so bright against the black canvas of the universe

large and round and falling, quickly

ripping the black, leaving a beautiful streak behind

before it slipped behind the peaks

A comet, a shooting star?

A falling wish.

_ Did you see that?  _ He did.  _ Did you make a wish?  _ He did. 

_ I know who you are, Kenma.  _

**★彡**

Kuroo didn’t see Kenma for several days after that. Not in the halls, not on the roof. Hell, he went as far as to try to sniff him out on campus and asked Bokuto if he’d been showing up to practice. He had been, from what Bokuto said anyway, though something about him seemed off.  _ He’s been getting lost in thought these days. Is this your doing? _ He had to laugh. His doing? 

The possibility alone was funny. 

That day no classes were scheduled, and what was supposed to be a relaxing day off turned into an all-day doctor visit. They’d become routine by that point. Four or more appointments a year to keep an eye on his general health, two of which would have pulmonary function tests run to gauge the level his lungs were functioning at. 

Akaashi was kind enough to take and drop Kuroo off. If all goes well, he would be allowed to go home until the next appointment. If they found something wrong, any infections, he’d be fucked and would need to be admitted for a month so they can monitor and treat him. After his tests, he planned to make Bokuto treat him to dinner as a reward for trying not to die. 

The team he had working on his case was new. When he was permitted to move away from his mom, his primary support and care for many years, he had to switch hospitals, have all his medical records faxed over, and needed a new team assigned to him. It was downer sometimes, only sometimes, because there was a room always reserved for him at his old hospital. Decorated in sports and scientific posters. Blankets his mom knitted and his own pillowcases for those longer stays. Such a large chunk of his childhood was spent in that room plagued by fevers and coughs worse than what he already dealt with, hooked up to machines and tubes just so he could do something as simple as breathe. 

Breathe. Kuroo had never known what it was like to be able to take in a clear, deep breath and relish in its feeling. To not have a tube stuffed down his nose or prongs of a cannula helping him breathe because he was incapable of doing such a simple thing. 

Blood was taken from him first. Viles upon viles. Looking for possible infections, or the chance that his liver finally started to tank on him as a result of all the medications he had to take. They checked his vitamin levels and made sure he didn’t have a fever一he didn’t一before weighing him. Thankfully, he managed to keep his weight steady with the help of the feeding tube and Akaashi making sure he was eating right. His blood pressure was low, it always was, but his vitals seemed normal.

“You’re looking good, Kuro,” the nurse said and pulled the needle out of his arm. 

He touched his palm to his forehead and smiled. “Aw damn, you flatter me.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll get these sent to the lab.” The nurse left with the vials, clicking the door shut. 

Next, his respiratory therapist came in, pulling in a machine. Kuroo was given one end he had to blow into as forcefully as he could within the span of one second to measure his lung function. Another test indicated how blocked his smaller airways were, and just how much and how fast his lunges moved the air out of his body. The whole test from the blowing to the inhaling always seemed to fail. Always. 

The therapist sighed the kind of sigh that could come off as concerning and had Kuroo slip on a lightweight vest that kind of looked like something cops or whoever would wear. 

“This will一” 

Kuroo held up his hand. “I know what it does, doc.”

When turned on, the vest began to vibrate his chest at a high frequency to loosen all the mucus blocking his airways, making it miles easier to cough all that shit up. The doctor handed him a dish, clear with a lid.

“Try to get as much mucus in there as possible.”

“Rodger.” Kuroo saluted and opened the dish. 

This was more difficult than it sounded, trying to aim goopy mucus into a dish that fit damn near perfect in the palms of his hands. It was a necessary evil sadly because the doctors needed to test the gunk for types of bacteria that was growing in his lungs so they could prescribe medications accordingly. 

He forced himself to violently cough, for so long it went on until finally, he succeeded at getting at least something into the dish. The vest was removed and the machine was taken out of the room when the doctor left. 

Leaning back against the wall, Kuroo pulled out his phone and sent a selfie with his middle finger up via Snapchat to Bokuto, just to rub in his best friend’s face how amazing his day was going. In return, not but several seconds after the photo was opened, he received one from an angle closer to the floor giving Kuroo full view of Bokuto’s ass, his tongue out, and his middle finger in the air. Somewhere in the back, Akaashi stood looking almost disappointed. Like he wanted to simultaneously facepalm and take away Bokuto’s phone privileges. 

**Kuroo: BOKUTOOOOOOO, YOU OWN ME DINNER TONIGHT! BEEF! TONES AND TONES OF BEEF! (11:09 AM)**

Kuroo captioned his next photo and sent it off. Then, a loud _ DING! _

**Bokuto: U CAN HAVE THIS CAKE OR NOTHING! ;) (11:10 AM)**

**Kuroo: Homie… are you really offering me a taste? (11:10 AM)**

**Bokuto: anything for u bro <3 (11:12 AM)**

Just before he sent his next message off, his doctor was back in the room, clipboard in hand. A solemn look on his face and Kuroo’s smile faded because he’s seen that look before. He knew exactly what it meant. Something was wrong

And as the doctor spoke, he tried to listen. But the moment he heard the words  _ Your lung function has dropped _ everything faded away. He wouldn’t have to be admitted, a blessing, but his lungs would have to be monitored with a closer eye and he’d be given one of those vests to take home. He’d need to use it every night and do what he could to cough up as much mucus as he could. 

Thirty percect. His lung function had dropped to thirty percent since his last visit, which had been at a relatively normal percentage. That was a number that would keep his mom up at night if he were to tell her, of course he had to, but she’d never admit to it. Kuroo’s climb up the transplant list wasn’t steady enough, and his mother knew that. Anything, she’d do anything to get him more time. Even if it was just a day longer. 

And that was the thing about death. It was a strange sort of thing. 

It creeps up on you, silent and still, sitting by the side of your bed at night and strokes your hair while you sleep. Withers into your skin and lies with your bones, embracing and wrapping itself around them until it's squeezing so tightly you can’t breathe and it feels like your lungs may collapse. It leaves false hope in your heart, that maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to beat it, but then it lies in your bed and smiles right at you. 

You could lock yourself in a hidden closet under a set of stairs and hold your breath in the dark for years just for it to slither under the crack under the door you were certain you covered

it will wave its magic wand

and w h i s k you away from the world without a word

and ask for nothing in return

only a simple bow at your funeral 

and accept the accolades to a job done well

before easing any trace that you existed.

Eventually, Kuroo reached the point where he grew used to the idea of dying young. A slow, invisible death that could only be prolonged, not cured. And he made his peace with it as he entered middle school, deciding he was going to live life with no regrets and like every day was his last. 

Trying to stare death in the face and smile back became hard after a while. Yet, he did it. Every morning he put on his best smile and every night he kissed death on the forehead out of spite because he would not lose to the world. He would not lose to such a horrible disease without a fight. 

Even at that moment when it felt like he’d fallen off the edge of the world, he smiled at his doctor, stuck his thumb out, and said, “We’ve got this, doc.”

“Kuroo… let's be realistic here一”

Kuroo cut him off. “I’m sorry, Doc, but I can’t live my life dwelling on this. I’m dying. I’ve known this for so long, but I’m going to live. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

His doctor sighed and shook his head, clearly disapproving of the way Kuroo was handling the situation. “Exercise. Your skateboarding is fine. Vest therapy. And try to keep your cannula in at all times.” 

He nodded firmly. “I will.”

“And Kuroo, maybe we consider the surgery for a G tube instead of the nasal. You may benefit from it.”

“I’ll think about it.

**Kuroo: AKAAAAASHIIIII! COME PICK ME UP! (1:23 PM)**

Rain. He wondered about raindrops. Why or how they were falling, how they managed to trip over their own feet with such ample time to catch themselves and never do. It was like watching the clouds cry and empty their pain onto the ground just for it to explode all over the concrete. Clouds were a reminder that the world had a heartbeat, that he still had one, too. That it hadn’t stopped yet. 

The rain cleared up, the sun had settled behind the horizon, just as he entered the apartment, and when Kuroo reached their hallway he lingered by the door, the one Akaashi had just gone through. Stared at the janky door at the end of the hallway and wondered if Kenma would be on the roof. It was probably yet up there, the stairs were probably slick and twice as unsafe. But it was dark and the news said the sky would clear up that night. No clouds or dingy fog. Just pure stars. 

He said fuck it and decided to take the chance. Kuroo held onto the stairs like his life depended on it, feeling top-heavy with the metal tank weighing him down, and made the climb, slow and steady until his feet finally reached the concrete. And there he was; face illuminated by the glow of whatever handheld device he’d brought up that night. His heart warmed, filled, and felt like it was going to burst at the sight. 

Looking up at the sky, he noticed that his note was still there. He noticed the way Kenma had been gazing up at the stars like he hadn't noticed Kuroo yet, and he watched the boy use his finger to write in the sky. 

_ Who? _

And he almost fell apart, using what little strength he had left to keep himself from tumbling over the edge of the roof. 

“Hey Kenma!” he said, breathless, doing his best to sound normal. Like his heat wasn’t palpating in his chest at a rate that would be considered concerning.

He looked down from the sky, eyes wide like he’d be caught doing something. “Oh… hey, Kuroo,” he mumbled back in such a soft tone Kuroo could hardly hear it. 

Kuroo pulled off one of the many hoodies he had on and laid it down on the concrete before sitting down, patting the space next to him. Offering a place for Kenma to sit that wasn’t all too wet or cold. Hesfullyion in his movements, Kuroo noticed, but he moved next to Kuroo and seemingly did what he could to keep them from being  _ too  _ close. From touching. 

And they sat in a peaceful quiet only filled by the sound of Kenma’s Switch producing music that sounded so gamey, like Mario. Kuroo took in the boy’s side profile for perhaps way longer than he should have, taking note of the small blemishes he could see, the light acne scars, and all the imperfections. He took note of them, memorized where they were, and looked up at the sky.

_ I think I know who you are, Kenma. _

_ Who? _

To break the silence he said,  "If you knew how much time you had left, what would you do?"

Kenma broke away from his game, for just a split second to catch the features of Kuro’s face, and from the corner of his eye, he seemed confused. Kuroo could see him chew the inside of his cheek, furrow his brows only to relax them again.

“Probably nothing.” 

“Ah? Why? There’s no place you’d want to see or things you’d want to do?”

A slight movement of his shoulder. “Not really? It's like… the end of a game, you know? You’ve done all the levelling you could so it's like the game is over.”

Kuroo smiled. “That’s an interesting way to put it.”

“What would you do? If you knew how much time you have left?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” He took a breath. “Be happy. Live life like every day is my last. Do crazy shit like rob a bank or something. Maybe commit arson.”

“Really?” 

When Kuroo looked back down, Kenma was fully staring at him like he thought he was serious, and he had to laugh. Had to slap his knee and throw his head back and let loose because really, Kenma believed him. 

“No, not really.” Kuroo shook his head. “Well, I wouldn’t rob a bank or commit arson. But maybe I’d start a meth lab or something. I mean, I know how. It's just chemistry.”

“...You like chemistry?”

“Absolutely.” 

And Kenma looked back down at his game, unpausing to focus and Kuroo contemplated plucking it from his hands, just to see what kind of reaction he would get. But Kenma gave off feral kid vibes: like the kind of kid that would throw his controller through the window if he died or if something inconvenient like the Wi-Fi or power going out. 

Then or never. It was then or he’d never do it, and really, would he be able to live with himself after that? 

How many seconds went by? So many seconds… so many long seconds that felt like eternities wrapped into tiny forevers and一

“You.”

There. He did it. He said it. 

It took Kenma far too long to react, confused. He was looking at Kuroo like he lost his mind until he finally looked up until he finally saw what Kuroo was talking about. There it was. Three letters. One syllable. A single word that said everything and nothing at the same time and Kuroo was desperate for Kenma to say  _ something _ . Anything. He was certain, at that moment, that he had fucked up as he watched Kenma’s expressions shift from confused to understanding to shocked to… nothing. 

At that moment when Kenma had his head tilted back, looking at the stars Kuroo rearranged for him, confused and unfiltered, and Kuroo was certain that the feeling inside his heart had been love, Kenma looked over, and saw一really saw一Kuroo for the first time. Who he was. Who he’d always been. Through the eyes unfiltered by the need to keep himself reserved and quiet. For the first time, he realized that it had always been Kuroo. 

Kuroo realized that Kenma finally knew what he’d known for a long time.

They were soulmates. 

Each other’s first and only friends for such a large part of their lives. 

The spawn for Kenma’s love of volleyball, and Kuroo’s motivation for happiness. 

But Kenma’s face shifted to something resembling horror, and he turned away.

“I said so many embarrassing things,” he whispered. 

Kuroo had to laugh. He had to because after such a revelation, that’s the first concern that popped into Kenma’s head. 

He turned back around, eyes narrowed and angry, face flushed red. “It's not funny, jackass!” And without thinking, he threw his Switch. The world slowed down as it hit Kuroo’s chest.

And he was laughing again, arms wrapped around his stomach, lungs begging him to stop before they decided to just give up on him, and if he were being honest, he wouldn’t mind. Seeing Kenma that mad would be a good last thing to see before dropping dead. 

Kenma chewed the inside of his cheek with arms crossed over his chest as he asked, “How long have you known?” 

Kuroo wiped the tears from his eyes. Rubbed his sore stomach and let out a breath, watching it come to life and disappear into the cold air within a second. “Since the beach. I saw you looking up at the sky and it just clicked.” 

The words to come were like a slap in the face.

“I don’t know if I’m in love with you or not…” Kenma leaned back and pulled his knees up to his chest. “I’m not so in tune with my feelings. I don’t get them.” 

“I understand. I think I love you but am I in love with you?” he chuckled, harsh and rough and then it turned into a wet cough. 

“I think I could love you.”

“Well, for now, let’s do something really fucking crazy and trust each other.”

“Crazy?” Kenma questioned. 

“I said I wanted to do some crazy shit, didn’t I? This’ll be the craziest thing I’ve ever done.”

Kenma snorted, covered his mouth and shook his head. “You're a damn idiot, Kuroo.”

Right there. His heart almost exploded. Had it? Would he even know if it did? 

“Hey,” Kuroo leaned in a little close, not too close, but close enough, just enough for his breath to tickle Kenma’s ear, “Can I fall in love with you, Kenma?”

one two three four seven heartbeats before he answered. 

“Yes.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is one of my favorite chapters<3


	3. with shortness of breath

Kenma would try. That’s what he told Kuroo. And he did. 

He invited Kuroo to his apartment one day, introduced him to Hinata and the others. They played video games for hours before Kuroo pulled the power cord out of the wall and told Kenma that he needed a brain or else his brain would rot. And he had the audacity to laugh at Kenma’s rage and efforts to try to steal the cord back, but Kuroo held it over his head and watched Kenma jump. 

And they traded nights. Some nights they’d sleep at Kuroo’s, some it would be Kenma’s, and other time they slept alone. Getting Kenma to sleep at a decent time proved to be difficult, Kuroo noticed, so he created a schedule of the times Kenma could and couldn’t game. Before bed had a giant slash through it.  _ I won’t hesitate to break in and turn the Wifi off, Kenma.  _ Thank God, that hadn’t happened yet. 

Kuro put his head between two pillows at night and told Kenma that was how he "styled" his hair. Kenma was shocked because he was certain such a hairstyle had been intentionally styled that way. Not bed head.

Things were weird shortly after the discovery. Awkward. But eventually, the shock from the discovery winded down and the comfort they had once felt returned. Kenma found that being able to talk to Kuroo without much of a filter wasn’t as hard as he thought it was going to be, thanks to Kuroo leaving cute messages for Kenma every morning on the days he had classes and practice like nothing had changed. Not much, anyway. He’d respond when he had the “guts” for it, stupid guts, and did what he could to leave his own notes for Kuroo when he had classes. He didn’t know what to say more times than not. 

Kenma and Kuroo were working. Kenma was trying. He saw the way Kuroo looked at him, quick glances like his heart might burst, and he wanted to be able to return that. Yes was his answer because he wanted to be able to return it, so badly. He couldn’t tell if he was falling or not. Feelings were difficult. Strange. 

He hated feelings. Feelings clogged his brain, made his heart confused, and he hated it. If feelings一emotions一didn’t exist they he wouldn’t be stuck in such a vexing situation. Damn feelings. Damn them to hell and back and then back again. They made levelling up ten times harder when it was already difficult in the first place. 

But… a soulmate. Kenma had found his soulmate. After all those years he found them一him. Kuroo. He found him.

Their stars started winking at each other long before they started to fall.

**★彡**

“You wanna commit a crime with us?” 

Kenma looked up from his place on Kuroo’s bed, wrapped up in blankets and surrounded by pillows because apparently, Kuroo was one of those psychopaths that needed at least ten on his bed. Switch in in hand, confusion on his face. He was unaware that when Kuroo said he was going to go talk to Bokuto, they were going to conspire to commit a crime. A. Crime. 

“What?”

“Bokuto found an abandoned waterpark on Google maps and I want to skate down some of the rides.” 

“An abandoned skatepark.”

“Correct.”

“...”

“...”

“No. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Kenma,” Kuroo said, his voice going serious. “Listen to me, we’ve got to. It’ll be crazy.”

Kenma thought back to their conversion, the one where Kuroo said he wanted to do crazy things and maybe even commit a crime. Was this one of the crimes he was talking about? Reluctantly, Kenma looked up from his Switch and saw that Kuroo had his hands together, a pout on his lips. 

“I don’t want to do it without you.”

“...I can’t even skateboard.”

“That doesn’t matter! I can teach you.” 

He rolled his eyes, sat up and stuffed his switch into his hoodie pocket. “Fine. But if we get caught I’ll cut your fingers off. 

Kuroo stuck his up in mock surrender and laughed. “Easy now, feral kitten, no need to threaten me. We won’t get caught. 

Kenma huffed and stood up, brushing past Kuroo as he walked to the living room. Bokuto was waiting in there like a dog, ears up and tail wagging because he knew just from the way Kenma looked that Kuroo had managed to convince him to tag along. He was already dressed in a thin hoodie and had his skateboard standing, resting against his leg. 

“We’re taking Akaashi’s car while he naps,” Bokuto said, swinging the chain of keys around his finger. “Poor guy doesn’t feel too good. I wish he could come with.”

“Does he know you’re taking his car?” Kuroo asked. 

“Wel… he doesn’t have to know.” He smirked and held a finger up to his lips.

“And you expect me to not tell him?” Kenma cocked a brow. 

“You wouldn’t. Right?"

He shrugged, glanced to the side. “Maybe, maybe not.”

Bokuto placed his hands on his hips. “What do you want?”

“A new game. Or a DLC.”

A sigh. A slight nod, unenthusiastic. “Fine.”

Behind Kenma, Kuroo smirked, large and proud and overflowing. “You’re evil.”

“If there’s a chance I’m gonna get arrested, I might as well get something out of it.”

It looked like Kuroo wanted to say more, wanted to do more, but Kenma noticed the way he held back and simply smiled, waving his hand for Kenma to follow Bokuto out the door. He wondered what it meant, the hesitation. The desperate look in his eye that spoke volumes. Kenma never really was good at puzzles, but he knew there was something more to Kuroo. 

In the car, Kuroo sat in the back with Kenma so he couldn’t be alone. Once they were buckled in, just as Bokuto started the car up, Kuroo leaned towards Kenma, a hand cupped around and shielding his mouth as he spoke in a whisper. 

“Be ready to grab the  _ oh shit handle.  _ Bokuto drives like the bastard has nine lives.”

And they sped off, pushed against the seats by the sudden force of the car taking off down the street without much of a warning. Bokuto was following the navigator he had pulled up on his phone, and hardly paid any attention to it. By the time he needed to take a turn, it was already too late but it took it anyway. Cutting it close, making it far too sharp to consider safe. Kenma wondered how he actually managed to pass any part of the driving test, written and physical alike. 

Bokuto was a danger to society on the road. With every turn, Kenma’s life flashed before his eyes like he’d never seen it before. Death by car crash would be a terrible way to end a game he hadn’t beaten yet. Beside him, Kuroo held onto the handle so tightly his knuckles turned white, and he kept Kenma from flailing around because the seatbelt trying to hold him in place was doing so little to keep him from flying to the other end of the car. If Kuroo hadn’t been there, Kenma surely would have smacked his head on the window. 

Falling into Kuroo’s lap face first was embarrassing. Trying to catch himself was even more humiliating. And he hated Bokuto for it. What he would do if he ever got his hands on that man… 

Chain link fences surrounded the perimeter and security gates blocked the entrances. A broken-down sign hung low, tilted, the painted chipped from the harsh weather over the years. No cars in the parking lot. Not a single sign of life. 

“How’re we supposed to get in?” Kenma asked, pressing his face up against the window. 

“We’ll jump the fence,” Kuroo replied and got out of the car. 

Kenma blinked and from his seat watched Kuroo drag his board from the floor of the car before he slung a backpack over his shoulder. To have more freedom, Kuroo managed to find a way to make his oxygen tank more portable by stuffing a smaller version of it in a bag, like what old people do. Riding his skateboard became less of a hassle. Functioning became more manageable. 

There was no way he could jump a fence. When the time had come and he found himself standing next to the ten-foot wall made out of chain links, wobbly in structure, he concluded that there was no way. Kenma didn't have the strength to be able to pull up like that. And what was supposed to happen if he managed to reach the peak? Was he supposed to jump off and risk his ankles snapping from the impact? 

Bokuto and Kuroo tossed their boards over to the other side. They linked their fingers through the openings and began to climb up, boosting themselves up with their feet, the structure of the fence unwavering against the weight of both of their bodies. Bokuto was the first one at the top, having pulled himself up to sit up on the top of the fence. Kenma had begun climbing, slow and steady, arms already growing heavy from trying to pull himself up. Kuroo reached the top just as Kenma slowly breached the halfway point, and stuck his hand out for him to grab onto whilst Bokuto held the backpack, keeping his friend steady. 

He was out of breath when he reached the top. He sat at the top of the fence between Bokuto and Kuroo looking out at the waterpark. And in a strange apocalyptic way, it was lovely. The way things fell apart after being left to rot and abandoned for so long. He was sitting between two idiots, their gazes speaking wonders and mouths ajar, and something told him that it felt right. Well, not the whole trespassing part, that wasn’t right. But being there with Kuroo―and Bokuto一like right. That’s where he needed to be. 

Kuroo reached behind Kenma and smacked Bokuto on the back, aggressive and loud, before he turned his body to make the descent. Bokuto grinned his signature wide grin and jumped down一JUMPED!一without another thought, landing on his feet. He threw his arms up and turned back to Kenma. 

“Come on, shrimp!” Bokuto yelled and held his arms open like he was getting ready to accept a hug. “We’ll catch you. Won’t we, Kuroo?”

Kuroo dropped the few remaining inches to the group and turned around, mimicking Bokuto’s open arm gesture. “Come on, Kenma. We won’t let you eat shit.”

Kenma narrowed his eyes, not quite sure of that statement was true or not, but started his own descend. One chain link at a time. One small step. The metal was cold and digging into his hands. His legs were tired. Even in such cold, he began to sweat. Sweat. If Kenma didn’t accidentally slip and die from blood pooling onto his brain, he’d make Kuroo pay as he was the cause of all the sweating and heavy breathing. It was his fault. 

He had reached the halfway mark as his arms began to shake, his grip loosening, and after noticing the weakness in his arms started to grow, he tried to pick up his pace and climb down faster. The seconds to follow were like those weird cheesy romance movies with so much sweetness in them it makes your teeth begin to rot but also induced the sensation of needing to throw up because it's also disgusting. That moment was, those seconds, were disgusting for his foot had gotten wedged into one space between the chain links, and in his far too aggressive attempt to pull his foot out, he lost his balance. Kenma’s arms gave out and he began to fall.

That was it. He failed the level and he accepted the consequences. Only instead of dying his back collided with the arms and chests of the two assholes who were responsible. He was going to blame them for his screw up. That, and gravity. If gravity didn’t exist he wouldn’t have fallen or felt the pressure of his own weight pushing him down. Screw gravity. And screw those two dick wads, too. 

“See, I told you we wouldn’t let you eat shit.” 

Kuroo was beaming down at him. 

“Disgusting,” Kenma said and pushed them away. “What if I was too heavy or you guys missed?”

“Okay, I hear what you’re saying, dude,” Bokuto nodded, gripping his chin like he was in thought. “But hear me out, that didn’t happen. So let’s not get our panties in a twist一” 

“Get bent,” Kenma spat and nailed Bokuto in the shin with his shoe. Whipping around, he narrowed his eyes at Kuroo, who had risen his hands in surrender. “You’re next.”

Kuroo dropped his board onto the ground and got onto it, pushed himself away with both his middle fingers up. “No thank you!” He shouted. 

“Ah?” Bokuto shouted. “You’re leaving me alone with him?! He’s like a cat with rabies, man. Rabbies! I’m not trying to die.”

“Kuroo, you prick,” Kenma walked towards where Kuroo had skated off to, “You were supposed to teach me how to skate!”

Kenma peered around one of the rides, bright yellow and cylinder-shaped and towering in size. He wondered if would’ve been like to walk under the rides when they were overflowing with water. Hearing the screams and seeing the water spill over the edges. It was so quiet. Eerie almost, the perfect place for murders to murder people. But then he heard Bokuto begin laughing followed by Kuroo’s hyena cackle. Kenma followed the sound until he was closer to the centre of the park, far away from where they had entered. 

At the bottom of an empty pool, a lazy river most likely, Kuroo and Bokuto skated up the walls only to drop down again. They weaved around the curves and twists of the pool until they did a full loop all the way around. Kuroo shot up, sweating and grinning and coughing, and he looked in pain. Like breathing had become increasingly more painful. Yet, he looked happy. A toothy grin split his face, his eyes shining. 

Kuroo was spun from ambers and obsidian. And he was laced with stardust. No one wore stars in his eyes the way he did. Like it was a lifestyle to exhibit such strange, unworldly beauty in a way that was chaotic and goofy and precious. Kenma learned that some people were just light, a faint glow that grew brighter as you became closer, and a spot of human stars… Kuroo was one of them. He was proof that stars could survive without galaxies. 

And Kenma was staring. Losing his thoughts and mind to the existence of Kuroo. To his smile and to the way he was so enthusiastic about all things science. To his art and the portraits he’d spent so many nights working on; portraits of Kenma. He’d lost himself to all things Kuroo. 

“Here,” Kuroo stuck his hand out, waiting for Kenma to grab it. “We can go practice near a place that isn’t a death hazard.”

Kenma looked down, then back up again. “What? What do you want.”

Kuroo blinked. Silent. Long blinks that were clearly over-exaggerated. “Am I just the gum stuck on the bottom of your shoe?” 

He furrowed his brows. “What一”

“AM I JUST CHOPPED LIVER?!” He shouted up at the sky and then let his head drop like it was dead weight. 

Then it clicked.  _ Oh. _

Kenma, beside himself and slightly embarrassed, reached out and grabbed Kuroo’s hands. Laced and intertwined their fingers. His hand felt so small in Kuroo’s, but it was warm and comforting. Gazing down at their hands he thought,  _ Could you find secrets about yourself _ 一 _ and the universe _ 一 _ hidden in the palm of someone’s else hands?  _ Yes, you could. He learned, within the few seconds it took him to adjust, that he liked holding Kuroo’s hand. He felt like he could conjure any game life threw his way. Anything. 

“No.” Kenma shook his head. “Let’s go over there.” He lifted his hand, pointing at a massive open area at the end of three large waterslides: one was a damn near straight drop, the one in the middle exhibited three large bumps, and the third one only had one single small bump somewhere in the middle. Green, blue, and red were their colours, in that order, and in the space between the slides were giant slabs of concrete. Open and void of really anything that could cause any pain aside from, well, the concrete itself as well as the ends of the rides that met the ground. It seemed safe for the most part. 

So they walked. Hand in hand. Kuroo, smiling like an idiot because holy shit Kenma was holding his hand, and Kenma, trying to grasp that it was reality and not some strange dream that was almost certainly too good to be true. Together. With Bokuto chasing after them, sad and complaining because  _ YOU GUYS LEFT ME ALONE AT THE BOTTOM OF THE LAZY RIVER!  _

Upon reaching the large slab of concrete, the lesson began. Kuroo stood in front of Kenma, acting like a pillar of support for Kenma as he stepped onto the board with shaking legs. The board swayed side to side under the weight of his unsteady legs, but Kenma held onto Kuroo’s biceps like a lifeline. On the bottom of one of the rides, Bokuto sat with his phone out, recording the whole ordeal so he could show Akaashi when they got home and were inevitably yelled at for taking his car without persimmon. 

“First, lets just balance,” Kuroo said and showed Kenma that his knees needed to be bent with equal weight distribution. Kenma struggled at first, leaning too far to one side, not having a great enough bend in his knee, but when he finally got it, Kuroo celebrated. “Yes! Alright, that’s good. Perfect.” 

Kenma felt his chest swell. 

“We’re gonna try a trick now.” 

His heart fell.

“A trick?” 

“A simple kickflip,” Kuroo said. “You just jump and flip the board with your feet. Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall.” 

Kenma stopped off the board just long enough to watch Kuroo complete the trick several times. The bastard made it look easy, and he was sick nonetheless. When it was Kenma’s turn, he would jump but not be able to flip the board, or he’d jump too low and almost fall. He would have if Kuroo hadn’t been there to keep him from slipping. 

During one attempt, he landed on the edge of the board and fell face first into Kuroo’s chest, and it was, once again, like one of those cheesy, cliche moments where the two main love interests are supposed to gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes. In a perfect world, they would share a kiss… but this wasn’t a cliche. It wasn’t a movie. Because in a perfect movie world, Kuroo would be healthy. He’d get better. That didn’t feel possible most days. 

Kenma was getting closer and closer at nailing the trick. With each failure, he was one step closer to successfully completing it...

...until the board slipped a little too far when he jumped and upon landing on the end, he slipped, sending the board flying down the concrete. Bokuto had just stood up, gazing like an idiot at his phone over a selfie Akaashi had sent him several days prior, and unbenounced to him, there was a skateboard underneath his foot. One wrong step and within seconds, Bokuto was on his back sprawled out like he was trying to make snow angels. He was a little too late for that. 

Silence. Only Bokuto’s groans of pain. 

They shared a look. No words. No form of facial expressions. Just blinking,

Then一

.

.

.

一Kenma laughed. Soft and small, building up to shaking shoulders and squinted, teary eyes as he covered his mouth and shook his head. Kuroo joined in after the initial shock wore off, pointing and laughing and leaning on Kenma to hold himself up. Together they pointed at Bokuto, told him maybe he should get his head out of Akaashi’s ass if he didn’t want to end up with brain damage. 

“Ow…” Bokuto mumbled his breath. He had sat up, rubbing the back of his head and his lower back, pouting.

“It better have been a nude or you just slipped like an idiot for nothing,” Kuroo said between harsh coughs. Mucus flew from his mouth and landed on the ground. 

“That’s nasty.” Kenma fake gagged. 

“You love my mucus.”

“No.”

Kuroo gave a wink and then a sigh. “Now we’ve gotta search for the board and make sure our idiot doesn’t have a concussion.” 

Kenma went off to look for the board while Kuroo stayed with Bokuto. He said his chest had been hurting him more than usual, and after all that laughing he needed to give his lungs a break. Kenma still didn’t know what Kuroo had, if it was terminal or what, because Kuroo never talked about it. Like he was running or hiding from it, whatever it was. Or maybe he was simply trying to pretend it wasn’t there. All he knew was that feeding tubes that go through the nose and into the stomach were supposed to be short term, but nothing about Kuroo’s situation gave off the feeling of “short term”. Those coughs, the coldness to Kuroo’s skin and the paleness to his complexion, the blue-purple in his lips… none of it felt right. 

But he never asked because it was clearly something Kuroo wasn’t too fond of sharing. 

The board had flown underneath a ride that felt like a trek away. It had gotten caught up in some loose gravel after zooming off the smooth concrete and flipped over. Kenma carried it back to the others and found them both laying on the concrete, talking and laughing.

“Kenma.” Kuroo smiled as he sat up to take his skateboard. “Bokuto was invited to a party.” 

“I don’t really like parties.” Kenma sat down in front of Kuroo and pulled the Switch from his pocket. 

“Oh come on, dude!” Bokuto pleaded. “Just to stop by.” 

“Just to stop by?”

“That’s it.” 

“...Fine.”

**★彡**

It wasn’t fine. It was so very far from fine. The exact opposite of fine. 

Terrible. Horrible. The music was loud rap, blaring and assaulting Kenma’s ears from every direction. Seas of people migrated around the house, dancing and drinking on their way. It had been fine until he lost Kuroo somewhere in the living room of the unknown house, and even then it wasn’t terrible. He found an open seat on the couch and sat down with his Switch. He fell into the game, almost forgetting about his surroundings. That included the nasty couple basically dry humping one another on one of the chairs not too far from him. 

It was all well and good until his Switch died. Right there. And when he stood to try to find Kuroo or Bokuto again, he felt out of place. Eyes were on him, watching his small body try to navigate through the bodies surrounding him. He heard whispers.  _ Who is this guy? Is he okay?  _ No. He wasn’t okay. 

Kenma was annoyed. Frustrated. Inside, deep down, he felt panic. Felt it work it's way up the walls of his stomach into his throat, wrapping itself around his brain and he couldn’t think or breathe or think or breathe and he had no idea where he was going until he was already in the bathroom with the door closed tightly behind him. The bathroom would have been preferred. He tried to lock it but found the lock was busted.

Before climbing into the tub, he splashed his face with cold water, a last-ditch effort to try to calm the nerves and rage he felt swarming around inside. Stupid Bokuto. Stupid Kuroo. Stupid people. Stupid parties. Stupid Switch for dying on him. 

A knock on the door. He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say the bathroom was occupied and would be, but the door opened. Closed. His heart dropped and behind the curtain, he held his breath as whoever it was closed the distance. A silhouette created by the overhead light was cast onto the curtain. He’d accepted the embarrassment he was about to feel. He came to terms with it quickly.

But it was Kuroo. And he was smiling, sad and soft, as he shook his head. 

Frustration. “You just left,” Kenma mumbled. 

“I lost you.”

“I was on the couch.”   
  
“I thought you might’ve escaped outside.”

“I couldn’t find the door.”

Kuroo sighed, said, “Watch your legs,” as he stepped into the tub.

Kenma pulled his legs up to his chest as Kuroo wedged himself into the tub. Knee to knee. His eyes followed the cannula from Kuroo’s nose to outside the tub; his backpack was on the floor. And he followed the clear tube back up to Kuroo’s face, traced the outline of the feeding tube resting on his collarbone, wondering what it was he had. Why was he so sick? What was wrong with his lungs? Kenma knew Kuroo struggled to keep weight on, but why? He ate all the time in such large portions. 

He could feel Kuroo staring, too. A brilliant hazel his eyes had been. Soft and kind and handsome, bright and warm against his light skin. Glowing underneath his stark black hair. He was staring at Kenma, a gaze that weighed so much he had to look away.

He had to know. 

“Kuroo,” Kenma began. Wiggling his shoulders, trying to shake away the tension. Playing with his fingers to give his hands something to do. Not returning Kuroo’s gaze. “What’s wrong with you…? Like, what do you have?” His face flushed at the way his words sounded. Wrong. They sounded wrong and he scrambled to fix the. “What’s making you sick?’

Kuroo snorted and tilted his head back, lightly smacking it against the wall behind him. The facet dug into his back. He shut his eyes, hidden the vivid colour from Kenma. “Cystic fibrosis.” 

Cystic fibrosis. Kenma knew of a distant family member that had CF on his dad’s side. They died young from a lung infection that grew and ran rampant. They didn’t have a tube that went through the nose. It was on their stomach and connected to one of the intestines that way. A lung transplant could’ve made their life longer, but the list is too long. 

“Will you die before you can get a transplant?” Kenma asked. 

“Maybe.” 

“Are you okay…? Like, right now?”

“I haven’t gotten any infections recently…” he trailed off, and even with his eyes closed Kenma could see the cogs working in Kuroo’s brain. “My lung function has dropped, though. And I haven’t told anyone.”

“Not even Bokuto?”

“Not even Bokuto.”

“Why?”

“I don’t need them worrying about me all the time.” He let his head fall forward and opened those eyes again. “I’ll be fine.”

“And if you aren’t?” Kenma’s voice fell low.

“Then I’m not… but at least I was happy.”

“When do you see the doctor again?”   
  
“They’ll call me if anything changes.”

Kenma buried his head in his knees, a deep breath leaving his lips before he looked up. Finally looked Kuroo straight in the eyes, and found himself swimming in the honey depths. Losing himself in them. In those eyes, he saw a hundred possibility of how this一 _ them _ 一could go and while so many of those possibilities all ended with Kenma in pain, wallowing in sadness, very few seemed happy, and he wasn’t going to let himself be intimidated by the sadness. By the inevitability that Kuroo would die before him. 

No matter how bad he wanted to quit, he wouldn’t.

“Hey, Kenma.” Kuroo had wiped the serious look that had overtaken his face away. “You wanna get out of here?” He pulled keys一the keys to Akaashi’s car一from his pocket. Gave them a light shake. 

“How’d you get those?” Kenma asked, slightly wide eyed.

“I swiped them Bokuto. Don’t worry, I made sure to text Akaashi.” Kuroo pulled himself out of the tub, moved the curtain out of the way, and stuck his hand out for Kenma to grab. Which he did. With little hesitation. 

And Kenma was warm as they emerged from the bathroom, even with the eyes all on him. He squeezed Kuroo’s hand, felt a squeeze in return, as he let Kuroo navigate the crowd of people until they reached the front door. Outside, people were passed out on the lawn and in the hedges that lined the sides of the house. People smoked cigarettes and weed alike. There were fewer cars parked along the sidewalk, but still far too many for Kenma to ever be comfortable with. He didn’t even know that many people, and he was willing to bet that the host didn’t either. Parties snowballed. The host would invite their main guests, and those guests would invite their friends, and their friends would invite more people. And so on.

He sat next to Kuroo in the passenger seat. What a surreal thing it was to be sitting next to Kuroo in a car, their hands still interlocked over the middle console. To see Kuroo’s side profile as he started up the car and began to drive; the streetlights briefly lighting up his face whenever they passed by. Kuroo’s backpack sat in Kenma’s lap, crushing his thighs. It was heavy, and how he carried it around most days like it was nothing was a mystery even scientists couldn’t explain. 

The car stopped outside a convince store. Dark and empty. Kuroo turned the car off, said he’d be back, and left Kenma in the car for how long? Only several minutes passed before Kuroo was back by the car, a plastic bag in hand as he motioned for Kenma to step out of the car. Using each other as support beams, they crawled onto the very top of the car. Akaashi would be fuming if he saw them, so good thing he wasn’t there. 

“What’s in the bag?” Kenma asked. 

Kuroo was grinning. Wide. Brillant. He pulled a large container of cookies and cream ice cream from the bag. “Ice cream.”

“What’re we supposed to eat it with…?”   
  
“What we were given, Kenma. Our hands.”

After much protest from Kenma, he gave in. Sitting on the roof of a borrowed, technically stolen car, sat two boys in the cold spring air. One a small volleyball player, the other dying artist. They ate ice cream with their hands and talked about random things that wouldn’t be remembered. 

Ice cream dripped onto Kenma’s chin, and when Kuroo noticed, he cackled. Pointed. Said, “You got something there,” and while Kenma tried to look down to see, Kuroo smeared more ice cream across the bridge of his nose. 

Kenma pulled back, narrowed his eyes. “You’re an asshole.” But Kuroo was laughing and he was trying really hard to be pissed. Tried really hard. Kuroo was still laughing. Kenma scooped a small bit of the treat up with his hand and threw it at Kuroo’s face, hitting him right in the cheek. Kuroo sat stunned, only for a few seconds, before reaching out to smear more on Kenma’s face. 

By the time they both felt it, when they finally noticed how close they were, it was already too late. The air had fallen still. In the dark, Kenma could hardly see Kuroo’s face clearly, but he could feel him. Could feel him breathing, yet he was still. So still. Like he didn’t know how to go forward, and Kenma was at a loss, too. The grip Kuroo had on his cheeks softened, the cold of the ice cream on his skin was gone, the anger of his cheeks being sticky vanished. 

“You make the stars in me fall, Kenma,” Kuroo whispered and Kenma could feel the words dance across his skin in one big breath一

一and he realized this. This was love. It bloomed in his heart and took over his insides, flowered in his bones and created butterflies in his stomach. And it exploded behind his eyes and clogged his throat and he was scared and happy at the same time. 

He didn’t know what to say or how to respond but he wanted to. So bad.

The air was quiet. 

His skin was on fire.

Even his thoughts were whispering 

3

4

5

10 seconds before he felt Kuroo’s lips on his nose, his silhouette blocking out what little light they had, soft and scorching and tender. So tender he could’ve forgotten that it belonged to a boy and not the breeze. 

Again. On his forehead, the one place lacking ice cream, and Kenma was rigid because he’d never been  _ that _ kind of close to anyone before, and it felt like a dream. His eyes were heavy and he was certain he was asleep, certain it was too good to be true because Kuroo had pulled back and was tracing Kenma’s lips with his finger. He felt the ice cream on his fingers, cold and dripping, and he felt Kuroo’s body heat, the way he filled the air, his existence and scent took up the space until there was nothing left. Something that smelled like him, something sweet but not, suffocating but also freeing. And he found that Kuroo’s fingers were gone from his lips because they were holding his cheeks again. 

Soft like Kenma wasn’t real. As if he might break if he squeezed a little too much. Like he might disappear underneath his touch, leaving nothing but empty air. And he leaned in again, just an inch, just close enough for their ice cream covered noses to touch, and Kuroo wan speaking so softly it didn’t even sound like an actual language. 

He said, “I love you.” 

No  _ I think.  _ It was confident and commanding and sweet. 

And Kuroo kissed him.

His lips were softer than anything he Kenma had ever known, softer than anything he ever thought could be. Soft like the feathers of a baby bird or snow, like freshly made cotton candy. It was like he was melting underneath the simple touch of those soft lips

and then it changed. Kuroo pulled back just long enough to take a deep, shaky breath, and he was unravelling again. Like he was dying to engrave the shape and feeling of Kenma’s lips on his. And finally, Kenma reached up to wrap his arms around Kuroo’s back, unconscious of the stain’s he’d leave and he was trying to pull him close. 

He was falling. Falling apart and into Kuroo’s open, beating heart and he was a disaster that just kept unraveling to reveal this boy who had no idea what he was doing or how to act but he could feel Kuroo showing him. Slow and eager and desperate and his brain was a mess of jumbled thoughts. 

The universe was spinning. Kenma was dizzy and spinning and trying to return what Kuroo had given him, such a sweet feeling with such fast movement but he felt behind, sloppy, and he didn’t know if that was okay.

One of Kuro’s hands had slid down to Kenma’s neck, leaving a giant print, and Kenma wanted to kiss him until the world collapsed, until all that was left was their bones, and he was on fire everywhere. And galaxies had collided upon the touch of their lips. Worlds and stars and whole solar systems were born. 

Deep and urgent like time was running out like there would never be enough time to truly experience this, the way their lips danced, and Kenma had been leaned back, Kuroo’s arm supporting his back. He had no idea what was going on anymore. Just that he was breathing, heavy, God, he hated being out of breath, and he thought about falling off the car, how that would go. But only briefly because Kuroo had pulled back to look at him like he’d lost his mind and sanity all at once and he was insane, he felt insane. 

He kissed Kenma like the world was rolling to the edge of a cliff with a never-ending fall into oblivion, and Kenma was holding on for dear life, a fist full of cloth bunched up in his hands. It was like he was fighting for air only to finally give up and only inhale him. And Kuroo was saying things between kisses.  _ You’re so beautiful  _ and  _ I’m hopelessly in love with you  _ and he had hundreds of thousands of kisses for only Kenma. 

Kuroo was careful to not crush Kenma, his arm propped near Kenma’s head while the other was still securely wrapped around his back, keeping him close and safe and  _ close _ . And he was smiling down at Kenma, and Kenma must’ve been smiling back, he had to have been because nothing would ever match what he was feeling. They were breathing like they’d forgotten how. And it was clear that Kuroo wanted to do more, but he hesitated like he was unsure, and Kenma didn’t want any of it to stop because he liked kissing. He liked feeling Kuroo that close, he liked being that close, and he didn’t want anything he was feeling to stop. 

There they were. Kuroo’s forehead pressed to Kenma’s, their faces flushed with warmth, and they were smiling. And Kuroo was beautiful. And Kenma was tracing the outline of the tubes sticking out of his nose, feeling the way the cannula curved, feeling the tape keeping the feeding tube in place. 

“You’re perfect, too,” Kenma mumbled. 

And the look that overtook Kuroo’s face was like a new feeling exploded inside of him and he was leaving little kisses on Kenma’s lips. Quick and soft, like a whisper, before they became longer. Slower. Kenma was thinking that there wasn't a single thing he’d change about that moment. 

“You know,” Kuroo said against Kenma’s lips, “This ice cream all over us is going to be really hard to explain.”

Kenma’s face flushed a different kind of pink, his grip slipping from Kuroo’s back to smack him in the chest because it was his fault. “It was your fault.” 

Kuroo laughed, shook his head, and took both of Kenma’s hands in one of his and kissed them. “I’ll take full responsibility then.” A moment of silence. “Hey Kenma, do you wanna go on a date?”

“...Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally suppsoed to be 4 really long chapters, but i decided to dice them up into smaller chapters so instead of 4 there will be 12. if some of what you read seems familiar, it probably is. 
> 
> im not great with updating, even though this book is fully written, but im an adult with a job and im still recovering from my second surgery done back in September (it's been a horrid reovery). and ive got a multitude of other problems, new and old. 
> 
> ill shoot for once every week or two.


End file.
